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" ";; ' " ' , " : : , ' ; ' ,: " , ' : ' ,; :,,, ', , '.- , ,, , ";:; " ,. , " , ' ,:, . : " ' , : ,. ,,. , "' " $I , -'i , ;' . : , : , . . ; , . . :t:: =...,' i,'" .', -" ïg!!:;:5 B I:: : f,;B1f::::: iì ' '!a f : . .' . . . ... .. ; A R J(:.AV :: UE: :'S:I: ,T Ð\'$.:2n'if:::$tRf:ËJS:!: :':"' ii, Y::P,R.î::,%.,,'; , . ' . , ' Pcl\SONAL APPcAI\ANCc X os slipped from his place at Mr. Tooker's table and began edg- ing toward the door of the din- ing hall. "Wait a minute, Langford!" called Tooker. "Have you finished your luncheon? " "Yes, sir-that is, I've had all I want," said Amos. Then suddenly he realized that all the boys were star- ing at him with knowing, envious eyes. Even Tooker was looking after him silently instead of ordering him to come back and eat his custard. Thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking very bored, Amos sauntered down the long room and out the door. Once on the campus, however, he made a bolt for the main gate and stood looking down the road at the curve around which his mother's car would soon appear. It was the first time she had ever visited him at school. He saw her once a month, on the Home W eek- end, but that was different. She just came home in time for dinner Saturday night, very tired. Sundays didn't count at all, for he had to start back to school by noon. His mother was Dorothy Radclyffe, the Hollywood star, and every boy at Southern California Prep had been in a flutter ever since it became known that she would be at school today. It made Amos feel queer, having the boys "i stare enviously at him, having them \ polite-almost respectful-to him. As a rule he was "Four-Eyes" or "Skin- ny." Now he was the son of Dorothy Radclyffe. That was flattering in a way, he supposed, but it also made him embarrassed and uneasy. If it weren't for the track meet, he would ask nothing better than to take his mother off alone, perhaps for a long walk through the hills, and tell her- well, he had no idea what. There were so many things. After the track meet she might come walk- ing with him. Amos was competing in the Lower Forms' 220-yard dash this after- noon, and every senior in the school had a bet on him to win. Whenever he thought about it he felt a little weak. He had never done anything to make his mother proud. His report cards were terrible; he had just flunked math again, and even got a C in Physical Ed. But there was one thing he could do. He could run, and today she would be there to see him. He grinned to himself, remember- ing how he had always hated visiting I days. He had watched the other boys' mothers, how they came up to their sons' rooms and looked things over, or \ strolled on the campus with them, or chatted with the masters. Talking to a mother, a master always stood with one hand on the boy's shoulder and a whimsically indulgent eye on the boy's flushed face, and invariably wound up the conversation by giving him a friendly shake, whacking him on the back and assuring his mother that she had å fine lad. Amos darted out into the road, for the Cadillac roadster was coming around the curve. It drew up beside him and his mother got out. She wore a tiny strawberry-pink hat, with a bit of veil over her lovely, smiling face. Her eyes were as blue as the sky. She walked with him across the campus, between awed ranks of boys, who had gathered mysteriously out of nowhere. In a way the boys knew Amos's mother much better than he did; they knew her from the pages of the movie magazines, which they read avidly. Amos never read movie magazines and rarely went to movies, which gave the boys one more reason to think he must be a little cracked. Right now, they were probably wondering how Dorothy Radclyffe could ever have a son like Amos-a sandy- haired, spindle-legged boy with near- sighted eyes peering owlishly through horn-rimmed spectacles. "What a lovely place," his mother was saying. "What do they call that beautiful snow-covered mountain over there, Amos?" His eyes followed hers into the far distance. "That's Mount Baldy," he said, "and that mountain over there-" He stopped, for Big Davis was ap- proaching them. Davis was only a year older than Amos, but tall for his age, with a brown, handsome face and curly dark hair. " H . A ' b " d I-ya, mos m oy, sai Davis, blushing but brazen. Amos stuttered, "Oh, I'm swell." Then, noting the boy's taut ex- pectancy and his mother's smile of greet- ing, he did his duty. "Mother, this is Big Davis. Davis, this is my mother." "I'm sure happy to meet you, Miss Radclyffe," said Big Davis, shaking hands. "Would you mind awfully if some of the other fellows met you, too? Quite a few of us are members of your club and-" "I'd be delighted!" she said. Boys gathered around her, shook her hand, offered her autograph books to